


Enforced

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Breathplay, Drowning, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Near Death Experiences, No Plot/Plotless, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Obedience is valuable, even if Xanxus will never give Squalo overt credit for it, and Squalo’s obedience means Xanxus can make use of him however and whenever he sees fit, his tendency towards shouting notwithstanding. Besides, there are other ways to deal with his voice." Squalo is more submissive than he seems, and Xanxus values quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enforced

Squalo is always obedient.

It’s hard to tell sometimes. Xanxus thinks someone else might see the way Squalo protests, and the way he shouts insults back in Xanxus’s face half the time he speaks, and the threat laid under every gesture of the other’s hand, and might decide he’s insubordinate, a threat to be neutralized at best and entirely eradicated at worst. But Xanxus has never been the type to cringe back for the meaningless weight of words, and Squalo’s posturing never approaches anything near a blow, and in the end _what_ he does is obey, perfectly, even when the very structure for his loyalty has given way. Xanxus doesn’t talk about the failed coup -- it’s not something he likes thinking about, and so he doesn’t -- but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten, doesn’t mean that he has set aside the weight of Squalo’s continued devotion in the face of a revelation so great it nearly broke Xanxus’s own self-assurance before he drew himself back together through sheer force of will. Obedience is valuable, even if Xanxus will never give Squalo overt credit for it, and Squalo’s obedience means Xanxus can make use of him however and whenever he sees fit, his tendency towards shouting notwithstanding.

Besides, there are other ways to deal with his voice.

“Shut up,” Xanxus growls now, feeling the words reverberate against the inside of his chest as much as they echo off the tiled walls of the bathroom. The space is wide-open, decadent in its size; but right now there’s just the two of them in it, and both pressed close together in the space of the half-full bathtub. The tub is expansive -- it takes minutes to fill it just to a few inches of depth -- but Squalo’s knees are still spread wide enough to hit opposite sides of the porcelain, and he’s bracing himself against the front lip with such a tense grip that Xanxus can see the shift of the effort in the line of the other’s shoulder. “Move faster.”

“Fuck you,” Squalo spits with his usual venom, the sound barely muffled at all by the wet curtain his hair is making around his features. “I’m doing all the work here, shitty boss, if you want to go faster _you_ move.” But he’s obeying anyway, tensing his hold against the front of the tub to steady himself as he rocks his weight backwards to slide down another inch onto Xanxus’s cock. The movement is slow, dragging in spite of the lubrication Squalo made use of before he settled himself over the unspoken invitation of Xanxus’s canted-open knees and flushed cock; Xanxus can feel his spine crackle with electricity for every inch of depth the other gains, can feel the way Squalo is tensing around him as clearly as he can hear the straining effort of the other’s breathing as he lowers himself back and down. Xanxus could brace a hand at Squalo’s hip, could take some of his weight and ease the straining effort the too-slow motion is currently requiring from the other. He doesn’t. He stays where he is, where he was when Squalo first stepped into the bathroom with a dare in his eyes and heat at his mouth, where he remained while the other shed his clothes and worked himself open with a vicious haste that stirred desire into Xanxus’s blood more effectively than the simple fact of Squalo’s own obvious interest did. He kept his hands stretched out against the edge of the tub, the porcelain bearing his weight rather than his own effort; even when his cock began to swell with anticipation he didn’t shift, didn’t move at all except to tip his head back against the bathtub so he could hold his gaze unwavering against the pale of Squalo’s bared skin and the awkward force of his hand inside himself. Even now it’s only Squalo’s skin that has touched him -- fingers, first, a bracing hold as the other shifted himself into alignment, and now the grip of the other’s body, the flex and strain of sensation Xanxus can feel rippling through Squalo like waves as the other lowers himself farther.

“Hurry up,” Xanxus says without moving, without trying to enforce his command with action as yet. “Can’t you even do a half-decent job of fucking yourself?”

“Shut up,” Squalo hisses. He shoves himself backwards, takes Xanxus another inch farther; Xanxus’s fingers flex, reaching for friction against the tub, but Squalo’s grip tightens and skids, his breath rushing out of him as he groans at the motion. It’s a moment before he can ease his hold, another before he draws away for the start of another stroke; his back is trembling with the effort, his legs shaking where they’re spread wide around Xanxus’s. “Like you’re not enjoying this.”

“You interrupted my bath,” Xanxus tells him, and when Squalo slides back down he does move, this time, snapping his hips up at the bottom of the other’s descent to thrust hard over the last inch of depth. Squalo’s spine arches, his head jerks back in a choking groan, and Xanxus can feel heat against the inside of his chest, the pressure of a smirk trying to break free over his lips before he condenses it into a scowl instead. “I’m being generous.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Squalo bites off, but he’s moving without being told, drawing himself up before sliding back down to press flush against Xanxus’s hips. He’s still tense all along his spine, still straining so Xanxus can feel the other’s body clenching hard against the resistance of his cock, but he’s finding a rhythm anyway, working through the tremor under his skin as he falls into a pattern of motion. “You’re the worst, stupid boss.”

“Shut up,” Xanxus tells him, and thrusts up again, meeting and stalling Squalo’s downward motion with an angle that makes the other tense, that jolts another choked-off groan from his throat. “I don’t want to hear you.”

“Fuck you,” Squalo tells him without a hint of hesitation. “I’ll talk if I goddamn feel like it.” Xanxus rocks his hips up again, the force enough to splash a wave through the water around them, and Squalo groans again, a bit-off expletive hissing past his gritted teeth.

“Shut up,” Xanxus says again as he lets himself drop back to the support of the tub while Squalo is still shuddering with the abrupt loss of his self-made rhythm. “You’re too loud.”

Squalo’s laugh is no softer than his voice. It catches shrill against the echoing acoustics of the bathroom so Xanxus can hear the strain in the other’s throat echoed back on itself, overlaid until it sounds as much like a moan as amusement. “It’s not like you care who hears us,” he says, and that’s true but Xanxus isn’t about to tell him that, isn’t about to give ground in this any more than he does in anything else. “Who gives a damn whether I’m shouting or not?”

“I told you,” Xanxus says. “ _I_ do.” This time when he moves it’s to reach up, to lift a hand from its slack angle against the edge of the tub so he can close his fingers hard around a fistful of silver-white hair. Squalo’s head tips back immediately at the force, the harsh edge of his breathing coalescing into a sudden hiss of real pain as Xanxus pulls, but that’s not what the other was looking for either. The fist of Squalo’s hair is just the preliminary step, the gasp of hurt in the other’s voice just a bonus; the real goal is the motion he wins, rocking his hips up to push them both up out of the water so he can angle a foot down under his hips instead of in front of them. Squalo groans at the movement, his balance tipping forward until he has to throw his left arm out to brace himself against the tub edge with his forearm, but Xanxus doesn’t let the hold he has on the other’s hair go even when Squalo’s forward movement results in his neck canting far back against the strain at his hair and the angle of his throat drawing his breathing into a hiss of effort. Xanxus draws his other foot in too, bracing hard against the edge of the tub to match the fist he has of Squalo’s hair; and then he has his knees under him, and his balance is steady once more, and when he rocks up out of the water he takes Squalo with him, pushing the other forward over the precarious balance of his knees and the desperate grip he still has on the lip of the tub.

“You’re too loud,” Xanxus repeats, feeling the words rumble into existence in his chest and fade out in the space between his lips and Squalo’s ears. “Shut your damn mouth, shitty shark.”

“Fuck you,” Squalo pants, and Xanxus lets his hold at the edge of the tub go to grab at Squalo’s hip, to press his fingers hard against pale skin and draw Squalo back to meet the forward tilt of his hips. Squalo clenches around him, the friction of his body enough to purr satisfaction up Xanxus’s spine; but he moans too, a sharp, piercing sound that rises in volume as Xanxus slides deeper into him. It echoes bright, filling the whole overlarge space of the bathroom, and Xanxus scowls at the way it aches in his head, at the pressure it offers against his ears.

“Shut _up_ ,” he says again, and he lets Squalo’s hair go for a moment. Squalo’s head tips forward, relief spilling in a gasp from his lips, but Xanxus has no intention of letting him go for good. He grabs at the back of Squalo’s head instead, bracing his fingers wide against the curve of the other’s skull, and then he pushes hard and so suddenly that Squalo doesn’t have time to resist, doesn’t have time to more than yelp protest before he’s slipping forward and down under the surface of the water.

Xanxus doesn’t intend to hold him down for very long. He only intends a moment, just long enough to startle some of the volume out of Squalo’s throat and cow him into more obedient silence. But Squalo’s fingers tense at the edge of the bath, and Xanxus can see his lungful of air rushing out of him in a rush of bubbles, and he can feel the way the other’s body seizes tight in the first rush of startled panic. It’s Xanxus who loses his breath for a moment, with the heat of Squalo clenching hard around the resistance of his cock, and for the span of a heartbeat he doesn’t think to let Squalo back up at all. It’s not until Squalo knocks his elbow hard against the side of the tub that Xanxus is recalled to himself enough to pull the other up and out of the water, and even then he doesn’t let Squalo’s head go, doesn’t let him come more than a handful of inches above the rippling surface of the bath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Squalo spits, coughing wet in the back of his throat. Xanxus can feel that too, can feel the involuntary tension ripple through Squalo’s body, and his cock twitches in spite of himself, swelling without any additional friction but Squalo tensing around him. “Are you trying to _drown_ me?”

“What if I am?” Xanxus says, and pushes Squalo down again while he’s still gaining breath for a shout. The sound cuts off abruptly, giving way to another surge of bubbles before Squalo thinks to shut his mouth, and this time Xanxus keeps him there, bracing his hold at the back of the other’s head to hold him underwater while he draws his hips back to slide partway out of Squalo’s body. There’s a ripple of reaction through him, a shiver of tension that says Squalo knows what’s coming, and then Xanxus thrusts forward hard and feels the way Squalo jerks around him, the way the motion gets him another spill of air from the other’s mouth before he collects himself. He takes another thrust, rough enough to knock Squalo’s hold on the edge of the tub loose, and then he pulls the other up to let him cough and wheeze through a few lungfuls of air.

“You,” Squalo manages, sounding weak and shaky, his voice raw like Xanxus has never heard it before. “If you want to kill me it’d be faster to just shoot me.”

“Be quiet,” Xanxus says. “I do what I want.” He lets his hold at Squalo’s hip ease to slide his fingers down across the wet of the other’s skin; Squalo’s hard before Xanxus touches him, his cock straining towards the tremor of his stomach. He jerks when Xanxus’s fingers curl around him, his hips bucking forward to thrust for friction against the other’s palm. “And what you want,” Xanxus says, closing his hand into a too-tight hold and jerking up hard so Squalo’s spine arches, so he coughs over a startled moan of heat. Xanxus tenses his fingers in Squalo’s hair, weights his hand with anticipation, and when he says, “Breathe” it’s with the tone of a command. Squalo tenses, his body quivering with almost-resistance, but he doesn’t waste his breath on protest; he just gasps air, filling his lungs with as much air as he can hold, and then Xanxus shoves him down and under the water again.

It’s good like this, Xanxus thinks. Squalo’s shouts are dampened by the water, come out as nothing more intelligible than low gurgles against the surface of the liquid; the water itself is splashing against the sides of the tub, catching into resonance with the rhythm of Xanxus’s hips, but Xanxus doesn’t care about that, even when it starts to slop over the lip and onto the floor. Squalo’s fingers are still tense at the edge of the bath, his arm straining like he’s trying to pull himself up; but his cock is hot in Xanxus’s hold and his whole body is tensing in response to every thrust of the other’s hips. Xanxus can feel him starting to shake, can see the spill of bubbles from Squalo’s lips lessening and ceasing, and then he takes one more thrust forward and drags Squalo up again so he can retch and spit and gasp for breath.

“Another,” Xanxus tells him, watching Squalo’s shoulders shudder under the tangle of his hair, listening to the wet drag of his inhales in his abused throat. “I’m not letting you up until I come.”

“Fuck,” Squalo says, but there’s no heat in the sound, no volume from the raw effort under his breathing. “You _do_ want to drown me.”

“If you can’t take it you might as well,” Xanxus tells him. “I don’t have any use for weaklings.” He twists his fingers into Squalo’s hair, feels the arch of the other’s skull under his fingers. “You’re a shark, aren’t you?”

Squalo doesn’t answer. He takes a breath instead, a huge one, dragging hard into the whole space of his lungs; Xanxus can see his shoulders shift with the air, can feel the tension as he fills his chest with oxygen. Xanxus leans forward, bearing down hard against his hold, and Squalo’s head splashes under the water again, his hair catching to spread into a curtain over the surface of the water.

He holds out for a while. Xanxus was expecting a few seconds, hardly enough time for a handful of thrusts; but he keeps moving, and Squalo keeps himself steady, and his cock is flushing hotter and harder with every rough stroke Xanxus takes over or into him, with every second that passes with his head underwater. Xanxus wonders if it’s the danger that’s getting to him, if it’s the threat of death that has him so radiantly hot; and then Squalo’s shoulder shifts in an instinctive attempt to push himself out of the water, and when Xanxus shoves him down harder he can feel the other’s cock jerk against his hold, and he’s sure, then. It’s enough to make him grin down at the back of Squalo’s shoulders, even though the other won’t see him, enough to drive his hips forward into a rougher pace, and Squalo’s starting to shake, his whole body trembling with need for air he can’t get. Xanxus can feel the desperation drawing tight around him, can feel waves of panic clench Squalo hard against his cock, and he doesn’t let him up, and doesn’t stop the strokes he’s taking over the other’s length. Squalo’s hand slips off the edge, splashing into the water to brace at the floor of the tub, to shove in a desperate attempt to lift himself enough to breach the surface of the water; but Xanxus doesn’t let him up, just leans in harder to hold Squalo down more securely. Squalo’s shoulders are shaking, his fingers dragging uselessly across the slick inside of the tub like he’s reaching for traction; and then his back arches, his body shaking as he gives in to the need to inhale, and his cock jerks and spills heat over Xanxus’s hold as Squalo sucks liquid into his lungs. He convulsives under the water, his movements going erratic with reflexive attempts at survival, and he’s clenching hard around Xanxus, his body working through shuddering tension from his orgasm or his desperation Xanxus doesn’t know which. Xanxus is breathing harder, his whole body flushing to heat with each tremor that runs through Squalo’s body; and then Squalo’s desperate fingers go slack, and his whole body goes limp with one last shudder, and Xanxus groans and thrusts forward hard as his orgasm crashes over him like a wave. His vision blurs, his breathing stutters, and for a long moment there’s nothing in his head but the rippling heat in his veins and the sensation rushing through him to pulse hot into Squalo’s body. He lets the pleasure eclipse his awareness for a moment, lets the satisfaction radiate out into the very edges of his consciousness; and then he draws himself back to fit inside the confines of his body, and drags Squalo back up and out of the water.

He’s not breathing. That’s no surprise, after that last convulsive shudder following his quivering collapse into orgasm. Xanxus leans back over his heels, letting his cock slide out of Squalo as he does; there’s a spill of liquid in its wake, but he ignores it to brace an arm across the other’s chest instead to hold him upright. Squalo’s a dead weight, heavy against the support of Xanxus’s hold and with his arms limp at his sides; even his head falls back unresistingly against Xanxus’s shoulder when the other pulls him back. Xanxus eyes him sideways for a moment, considering the unconscious blankness of the other’s expression, appreciating the elegant beauty of his features without the lines of a grimace or the distraction of a shout to mar them. He thinks, for a moment, of leaving him like this, of letting unconsciousness slide into actual death uninterrupted by his interference; and then he sighs, and braces his fist just under Squalo’s ribcage, and shoves hard against the weight of the water in the other’s lungs.

It takes a few repetitions. Water spills from Squalo’s mouth with each shove, his body rocking back hard against the support of Xanxus’s chest; but then Xanxus pushes harder than before, feeling Squalo’s ribs creak under the force, and Squalo jerks against the support of his shoulder, convulsing himself into a sudden surge of water as his lungs empty themselves of liquid. Xanxus keeps bracing him upright, holding Squalo clear of the surface of the water as he shudders and chokes and gasps his way back into breathing. It takes a few minutes for him to spit up the worst of the water, and another several seconds before the wet-raw hacking in his throat eases enough for him to gasp air, but when he finally falls slack against the support of Xanxus’s shoulder it’s with the rhythm of breathing in his chest and the rasp of inhales at the back of his throat.

Xanxus lets his arm around Squalo’s chest ease and slides his hand down to close at the other’s hip instead, his fingers dipping just under the surface of the water. “Still alive, shitty shark?”

Squalo takes a deliberate inhale, the sound of it raw enough that Xanxus can hear it dragging in his chest. “Stupid boss,” he says, the words forced into a whisper by the effect of water and coughing on his throat. “Fuck you.”

Xanxus can feel his fingers tighten at Squalo’s hip, can feel pressure inside his chest like anger trying to push free. But it’s lighter than anger, warm instead of hot, and when he opens his mouth it’s laughter on his lips, a low purr of amusement that ripples up his throat and echoes against the bathroom walls to fold over on itself into a hum Xanxus can feel in the very center of his bones. Squalo coughs again, the motion quivering through his body against Xanxus’s chest; but he doesn’t pull away, and when Xanxus tips his head to look at him Squalo has his eyes shut, has his mouth relaxed around the relief of ordinary breathing again as he trusts the whole of his weight to the support of Xanxus’s shoulder.

He’s beautiful like this, too.


End file.
